


Boots 'N Bombs Week 2019

by Anonymous



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Ballad 39: Tam Lin, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fall Out Boy Lyrics, Heart Attacks, M/M, Moonshine, Phoenixes, Pining, Weddings, Werewolf Demoman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-26 17:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17750141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Check outour tumblrfor more info on the event!





	1. Myth

There are stories about the grotto, warnings, and Jane was acutely aware that he was ignoring all of them as he pulled the green of his scarf closer around him. _Beware all who entered here, yadda yadda, lest you fall from fortune, entrapped by magic…_

The woods prickled in unseasonable cold, like fall had forgotten that it was supposed to hold on for another few months.

_…ensnared by their spell…_

Jane’s feet slowed to a stop.

_…never to return home._

There was a man in the center of clearing. Both expected and unexpected. Expected in that he was exactly the sort of person the tales around the village told about—the cut of his clothes simple yet regal, his horse as white as new fallen snow—yet unexpected in that all his confident boasting, Jane hadn’t actually expected any of it to be true. His back was to Jane as he patted his horse, hands gently cresting over its muzzle as the mare let out a puff of hot breath. It hung, visible in the still air as the encroach of winter surrounded them.

The man paused.

Jane wasn’t exactly hiding—a man as big as him is difficult to conceal in under the best of circumstances, and the sparse undergrowth did him no favors—he yet still jumped like he’d been caught as the man’s eye landed on him. Or rather, eye. One that was surprised yet unsurprised to be discovered.

“And who might you be?” The question was directed over his shoulder, a hand still knotted in the long hair of the horse’s mane.

Jane’s chest puffed up like a ruffled porcupine. “I could ask you the same question, sister!”

The man, the _fae_ , wrinkled his face in a knowing smirk. The edges of his beard looked like they were dusted with snow. “Oh, I think _you_ know who _I_ am.” He turned fully toward Jane now, and having the fae’s full attention made Jane’s stomach lurch, no matter how much he’d been preparing for it. There was an unnatural _draw_ to the man in front of him, and if Jane hadn’t been convinced of magic before, he was now. “I bet they tell all sorts of stories ‘bout me down in that village.”

As much as Jane hated being seen though so easily, the sting of embarrassment couldn’t make him avert his gaze. Jane’s eyes were locked on the fae that walked toward him. The horse, having given up on pats, leaned down to nibble at a tuft of brittle grass.

“Maybe,” Jane admitted, his voice sinking into a mutter. “They talk about an elf. In the woods. With a sword.”

As he said it, his eyes flicked to the blade leaning against a mark stone. Even from here he could tell it wasn’t ordinary.

“Aye?” The fae seemed to find that amusing. “And what do they say about the elf in the woods with the sword?”

“That you’re a guardian.” The words were tumbling out now, dropping all pretenses. “That you ensnare travelers, enthrall humans. Trade gifts for kisses and…”

_…sometimes more._

Jane bit off the final words, opting instead to swallow as the fae stepped within arms reach.

“And is that why you’ve come to my forest laddie?” he chuckled.

The diminutive riled up and old dragon in Jane’s chest but he _couldn’t take it anymore_ , not with the other man so tantalizingly close. He reached forward and grabbed a fist full of the fae’s tartan, dragging him downward into a kiss. The man came easily enough, a smile blooming against Jane’s lips, a strike of life that blossomed away the surrounding cold.

* * *

“You don’t look like an elf,” Jane remarked.

Tavish cast a look over his shoulder, paused in the midst of pulling on his trousers. The spring dew had left them damp: an indicator that they’d he’d kept Jane out well past midnight yet again.

“And what are elves supposed to look like?” he mused, wiping his palms against them as though he could simply whisk away the moisture.

Jane shrugged, still leaning against the mark stone. “Don’t know. Pointed ears for one. Sometimes wings?”

Tavish couldn’t help but give a wry smile at that. “I guess you’re right then. I’m a bloody shite elf. Giving the all other elves a bad name.”

“Are there other elves?”

The smile fell away immediately. “Probably. Somewhere.”

But he’d given too much. Jane caught on immediately, peering around to try catch Tavish’s eye. “Something wrong?”

A deep sadness was already welling in his throat, the reminder of that dark shadow threatening to pop back into his mind—an unavoidable reality that his regular trysts with mortals helped him forget. He shook off the hand on his shoulder.

“Nothing love. There’s just water in my boot is all.”

But Jane had stuck around longer than anyone ever had, kept coming back to his forest even when the initial magic was gone. He’d let the villager in close, and now he’d become too familiar.

“Tav…If there’s something wrong you can tell me.”

His insistence was…sweet. Tavish had come to care for the mortal in turn, which was maybe even more dangerous than when the affections went the other way. He managed a small smile, and reached for the hand he’d refused. “It’s nothing Jane. I’m glad you want to help but…there’s nothing to be done about it. It’d be a kindness if you didn’t ask again.

Jane frowned. Pouted more like—lord he was cute when he pouted—but he relented all the same. Tavish thanked him with a kiss, and tried to slip back into blissful ignorance.

* * *

They said their goodbyes for the night standing at the edge of the forest, the white mare stamping her hooves in impatience. It was as far as Tavish had gone from his glen in a very long time, but tonight was important. Tonight was…

“…This’ll be our last night.”

Jane looked up from the wound he was nursing—a gift from a raccoon he had foolhardily tried to befriend that evening—and stared at Tavish out of widened eyes.

“What?” It looked like the world was crashing down around him.

“You won’t be seeing me anymore,” Tavish managed to choke out thickly. “Tomorrow’s the summer solstice. After that I’m going to be…” He floundered for a word and gave up. “…Gone.”

“Gone?” Jane straightened his back, hurt flicking to anger on his lined face. “Gone where? Where are you going without me?”

“I…I don’t want to Jane. If I could-”

“If you don’t want to then don’t!” Jane threw his hands up in the air. It was so simple for him—things he wanted he got, and anything else he’d go get.

“That’s not how it works,” Tavish said. “It’s not my choice. You just don’t get it: there are _rules_ for me Jane.”

The anger flicked away and back again, Jane’s voice becoming low once again. “…Who’s making you go Tavish?”

Tavish didn’t have an answer. Instead he turned, preparing to run back into the forest, to make the goodbye no more long and painful than it had already become, but Jane grabbed his wrist. He was strong for a mortal, strong enough that Tavish allowed him to hold him in place.

“Please Tav,” Jane said. “I know I don’t get all this magic faerie crap, and uh, even among humans I’m not the smartest. But I love you. And I can help. If you’ll let me.”

Tavish couldn’t bring himself to look at Jane. “You can’t. You’re mixed up enough as it is. They think you’re any sort of nuisance, and you die, simple as that.”

“I don’t care.”

Tears pricked Tavish’s eye, and he wondered if he would ever be deserving of the love Jane had shown him. But if he had let him come this far…and there was a chance they could be together after all this…

“…Alright,” Tavish said. His voice hung dead in the humidity. “I’ll…tell you as much as I can.”

A grin washed over Jane’s face. “Damn straight.”

The wheels had begun to turn. He was loved—by a mortal. That had to count for something. “Tomorrow night, you need to come to the forest. There’ll be a procession, and you’ll need to find me in it. Can you do that?”

“You bet your soggy breeches I can,” Jane blustered.

Tavish grabbed his shoulders and pulled him in close. “When you find me…hold me. Hold me and don’t let go.”

When Tavish didn’t go on, Jane furrowed his brow. “Is that all?”

“It’s not just all, it’s everything. No matter what happens, just keep holding me. Do you understand?”

Resolution steeled itself, and Jane nodded, and put his own arms around Tavish. In the tight embrace at the edge of the woods, the dawning dread didn’t seem so bad, the hug a strike of hope that blossomed away the surrounding despair.


	2. Trust

_It was the Fourth of July_  
_You and I were, you and I were fire, fire, fireworks_  
 _That went off too soon_

Trust is a lot like a homemade sticky bomb constructed using an aerosol can and some grain dust:

You’re young, you’re dumb, and you think you know what you’re doing. It takes hours of care and sitting quietly in the dark to build it up, and only one stupid mistake to kill you in the resulting blast. And, most importantly of all, once you blow up hours and days of studious care and send the little shack your parents let you work in sky high, you don’t just get it all back.

_I wish I’d known how much you loved me  
I wish I cared enough to know_

He doesn’t miss it until it’s gone.

 _It_ meaning _him_ , though not exactly. Of course he misses the Soldier, they were friends after all, but something that settles into his mind as he’s sipping scrumpy by the base’s open fire is the realization that he’s lost something else dreadfully important. If only he knew _what_.

It isn’t the first time he’s tried to deliberate on his former friend’s obscure mental state, tried to parse exactly what went through his mind when he made his choice. Mostly it came down to _what did I ever do to him?_ and _did that bastard even hesitate before making like a Spy and stabbing me in the back?_ But, despite a good helping of evidence to the contrary, Demo could be a capital A Adult when he put his mind to it, and settled in to try ‘n lay down some Real Empathy for his mortal enemy. He’d never suck low enough to try it before, but he was running out of options for making himself feel better; and, hell, if it didn’t work, he wouldn’t be any worst off than before.

The conclusion he comes to is this: there was no conceivable way Soldier ever could have betrayed him like this. Thinking back on every moment they’d known each other—from that convention to everything that followed after—Soldier had never shown anything but unwavering loyalty, solid and resolute friendship. He’d genuinely cared for Demo, in his own insane way, especially when compared to every other moderately non-violent relationship Demo had known him to have. It was clear, in hindsight, how much their friendship had meant to the BLU.

Which left the Demoman in quite the pickle. Because if it wasn’t Soldier’s loyalty to be questioned, what _had_ gone wrong?

Of course it was obvious _now_ , but Demo hadn’t known back then. Had just thought the two of them as particularly close mates, not noticing how uncharacteristically reachable Soldier was, how the man defended him, even from himself. Maybe the Demoman had just never thought to look. Never thought to entertain there were two hearts at work here.

So, with that revelation sitting unearthed in this inebriated skull, what was he going to do about it?

_Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of it  
I just got too lonely, lonely, whoa_

Those slings and arrows never had the heart in them. No _umph_ , even when he grandstanded to the masses more so than usual. He played the part of a jilted lover, if only because that’s someone who didn’t feel the world through a layer of inebriation _would_ do.

But the remorse….that at least was real.

_You are my favorite “what if”  
You are my best “I’ll never know”_

Soldier, despite all outward appearances, thought about him often.

They were darting thoughts, jumping and blurring all into one another with _the lights are down, good_ and _tomorrow’s battle will be victorious!_ and _I wonder if I can fit my hand in here-_

But despite all the turmoil inside his head, the Demoman weaved his way through it all. It was subconscious, only painful when examined, like how you can breath just fine until out of the blue you remember you have lungs and suddenly have to _think_ about making them go in and out until you mercifully forget again.

Soldier admired animals. The cats in the back alley never thought so hard they hurt themselves, the rats who made their homes in his ceiling didn’t ruminate on the past. They were better than Soldier who, no matter how he tried, couldn’t help but think that he’d taken one little brave step, things could have been different. That maybe if he had one more chance-

_And no, don’t tell me you cried  
Oh honey, you don’t have to lie_

The ring of the doorbell brought his shotgun inches from the Demoman’s face.

Demo blanched, but was either too shocked or stupidly resolute to take a step back in self-preservation. Soldier eyed him over the stock.

“You have three seconds, Susie Q,” he said, the shades of grey stripped from his world, stinging with clean determination. “Or that wall is going to be painted with your other eye and most of your ugly h-”

“I’m sorry.”

The words were muttered so quietly mid rant, that Soldier stumbled over the remainder of his sentence. That left the two of them standing there, stone silent, the creak of the apartment walls around them.

“What.”

“I said I’m sorry,” Demo repeated, his eye sliding past the gun to reach the rim of the helmet. Like he could peer under it with telekinesis alone. “It’s about time one of us said it. And since I’m the only one who ever manages to grow up here, thought it might as well be me.”

Soldier growled. Three sentences in and Demo was already getting under his skin, doing that thing that made it seem like he always knew better even when he was barely more put together than Soldier. Sometimes that’s all Soldier felt he was: a low benchmark that kept the RED feeling like he wasn’t _the_ worst of the lot.

“That’s some mighty stale last words, maggot.” Soldier flexed his hand against the trigger.

“I…” Demo’s shoulder’s deflated. “Sorry, that came out wrong. Can I come in?”

Everything from Soldier’s posture, to his gun, to the fact that he hadn’t cleaned the living room in over three months, all screamed _No_ louder than a team covered in Jarate, yet somehow Soldier still let the Demoman push past him into the apartment. Maybe it was the sheer force of personality. You know, the one that drew him to Demo in the first place.

~~Still draws. _Shit_.~~

Demo looked around, but didn’t comment on how the place was somehow worse than when he left it. After a measured silence, he finally said, “I finally figured…it must ‘ave been the pisser for you too, aye?”

Soldier sucked down a breath, choking on the understatement of the year. “You-!” The accusation rose then sputtered. “Me _too_? You want me to believe that what I did even comes close to-?” It came out too hot and too fast to articulate, only one hand left around the shotgun as the other pointed a finger at Demo’s chest.

Demo seemed to agree. His shoulders slouched more, and he said, “maybe not. But I came as soon as I wasn’t daft enough not to see.” He looked anyway but the Soldier, then sighed. “Ach, and I had this whole big speech planned…I don’t think is the best time anymore. But I want to try apologizing again, aye? Let me know if that’s ever alright.”

Then he was pushing again, past Soldier and out into the hall. He left the man stunned still, next to an open door and wondering if the creep of his psychosis had made the whole thing up.

_I said I’d never miss you  
But I guess you never know_

He didn’t want to forgive. But forgetting wasn’t an option either.

Demo was a man who had destroyed him, who had betrayed him in the most fundamental ways, who should be blamed for this whole thing instead of Soldier still finding way to blame himself.

And still.

Soldier ran out the open door, grabbing Demo by the shoulder and swinging him around. There was a brief moment, where maybe Demo thought that a surprise attack had been launched when his back was turned, but that changed as soon as soon as Soldier pulled him into a kiss. There lighting, electricity that could have been coming off them or any number of faulty wirings in the surrounding walls, but it resolved all the same, with a hand resting behind Soldier’s head as they both returned to one another.

_May the bridges I have burned light my way back home_


	3. Alcohol

It’s _moonshine_ , is what Demo calls it, which apparently means it’s alcohol only terrible and Soldier levels a disgusted glare as he hauls up the latest batch.

“Ah, dunnae give me that look Solly,” Demo says as he punches him in the shoulder. “You’ll learn to love it.”

Well. He might just have to. Supplies had been running thin lately, starting with the “non-essentials” such as spare buckets and also a reasonable amount of scrumpy. Now Demo didn’t have enough left for their nights atop the 2Fort bridge, not without dipping into his personal supplies, and Soldier was more likely to see under Pyro’s jumpsuit than any of _those_ prize possessions. So he’s left with _this_ horrible brainchild of Demo’s insistence, something that can barely be considered potable on a good day.

Soldier cracks open the keg and digs a ladle into the lethal soup, pulling out a fermented apple. He raises an eyebrow over it.

“…Alright, learn to have a cold and loveless marriage with,” Demo admits. He snags the ladle from Soldier and scoops himself a mugful.

“Your funeral, private.” Soldier raises his in an absolution of guilt. “I’ll make sure your pine box is nice and spacious, and your dog tags laid on a luxurious skirt of plaid.”

“ _I_ dunnae wear dog togs you idjit,” Demo shoves with his knee. “ _You_ dunnae even wear dog tags. Why is that lad? Scout more of a military man than you?”

The bark of surprise that escaped the Soldier is, thankfully, misconstrued as a laugh, and the moment long pause between Demo raising his mug and putting it back down gives him enough time to wipe the look of shock off his face. By the time Demo shoots him another look, he’s managed to accordion it back into his usual disconcerted frown.

Demo smiles sloppily at him. “Dunnae…knickers in a twist…jus’ a joke lad…”

“Are you drunk already RED?” Soldier’s brow knits under the helmet.

“Me? Nah…”

Jesus, that must be strong stuff. If he lets Demo drink the whole thing, he’ll respawn by morning.

That still doesn’t motivate him to touch the caldron of rotting fruit. Instead, he changes the subject. “If you’re going to make crap I can’t even drink, I’m going to start skipping these meet ups. It’s not like I come out here for the booze-” He cuts himself short, realizing how close he was to saying _I come out for the company_.

Demo, as always, doesn’t notice.

(Sometimes, Soldier wishes he would. Would use that brain of his for something besides formulaic balancing, and decrypt _Soldier_ for once. Save Soldier the trouble of saying it. Save him from figuring out what he even wants to say.)

But Demo doesn’t, and gulps down another of the moonshine. “It’s the _principal_ , Solly. In fact, it’s principally principal now more than ever! S’ contraband, just like us.”

Contraband. Unlawful. Prohibited. Taboo. _Wrong_. He knows all the synonyms for things that should not be done, for items that should be confiscated, for activates that should be court marshaled.  He knows that certain things are trouble, like making illicit moonshine, like meeting with REDs in the zone in between bases, yet he’s sucked into them anyway. Demo knows it too, bastard, as he shoots Soldier a cheeky grin before gazing out over the desert.

He rationalizes it to himself, like he always does. Those rules are for the other BLUs, the lackadaisical ones, the mercs who need to be whipped into shape with anti-fraternization laws lest they slip into pit of hippies and quislings. Soldier doesn’t need to follow them. He knows how to keep himself sharp.

BLU doesn’t know what they’re talking about.

They’ve never met Demo.

Soldier struggles, for a moment, between the wafting smell of moonshine and sewer water below. Demo’s hand is resting on the tin between them, soft and relaxed. Soldier could hold it right now—nothing is stopping him. No BLU, no watchful eyes. If he doesn’t then he’ll never find another to tell Demo, never be able to say that maybe they are contraband but that doesn’t bother him all that much-

He could do it. He can rationalize anything if he put his mind to it.

Slowly, he extends his hand, and links fingers with the Demoman, surprised at how warm his palm is. He waits for a reaction, a flinch of surprise or even just a confused look that he can play off as a joke to; but neither comes. He swallows, suddenly feeling very out of his depth, and is about to beat a hasty retreat when he hears a soft snore coming from Demo’s form.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.” He leans forward, and sure enough, the eye on the other side is closed, indicating the extent to which Demo has poisoned himself. “You useless drunk.”

Soldier sighs, but doesn’t withdraw his hand. Another day, maybe. He squeezes, and wonders how much longer it will take to muster up that courage again.


	4. Reoccurrence

“C’mon mate, you can’t go out like this. It’s a bloody pathetic way to die.” Despite the calmness of Demo’s voice, his hands never stopped moving, pounding the compressions into Soldier’s chest. “Shite, after everything we been through? All those battles and you’re going to kick it to a bloody heart attack?”

His attempts to shame Soldier back to life fell on deaf ears. The minutes ticked by, press after press, so hard he was sure he heard Soldier’s rib crack at one point. But even he, determined as he was to not let his friend go, had to eventually admit that he was…gone.

Demo’s arms slackened, still resting over Soldier’s heart. He couldn’t believe it—less than an hour ago everything had been fine, another successful night, another glorious run from the police that ended with them victoriously panting in a back alley. In the time it would take to fire a rocket, things went horribly wrong; Soldier clutching his arm, taking a knee on the dirty cement. And now he just wasn’t moving. Completely dead.

Demo couldn’t believe it. He felt like he was still in shock, and staggered away from the Soldier. He couldn’t look at him, as though the failure would burn his eye out. How could this have happened? Of the rare times they’d spent outside of respawn and Soldier had to pick _now_ to give in? Everything they’d done, all that time they’d spent together…how could the bond they’d forged just disappear like that?

While he was starring at the wall, the horror setting in on him, he failed to notice the heat growing in the dark alley. Luckily for him, the heat was soon accompanied by light, a bright orange flame that lit up the damp brick and prompted to Demo to spin around.

Soldier’s body was encased in fire, a great roaring pyre that shot up into the night sky. Before Demo could even react, to even fathom finding an extinguisher or some shit, Soldier was gone, disintegrated, nothing left of his body except the slowly shrinking column of fire. As Demo looked on in horror, that too faded, and the only remains were a pile of ash dotted with slowly cooling cinders.

“What the fuck.”

The sentiment only increased as the ash pile started to move.

“Jesus Christ!” Demo leaped back, but instead of another deadly batch of flame, this time the movements came out disjointed. A halting, lumpy figure arose from the dust.

“Goddamn,” Soldier said as he coughed a mouthful of ashes.

“…Jane?” Demo asked cautiously. He was no stranger to rebirth, but this was…odd to say the least.

“You got it.” Soldier got to his feet, completely fine. Stark naked and covered in a fine layer of grey soot, but fine. He began to dust himself off.

“What the bloody hell just happened man!?” Demo stepped closer, but backed off again just as easily. As much as he wanted to hold the man, make sure it was really him, the faint heat still radiating from the BLU was enough to put him on edge.

Soldier looked down at himself. Shrugged. “Think I was dead.”

“Aye. And er, does _this_ …” Demo gestured to the ash-covered floor, “…happen often?”

Soldier thought about for a good thirty seconds. “Not that I remember.”

“Well that’s great. Bloody great. Good bit of emotional distress right there, enough to give _me_ a heart attack, and all we know about this jack shit.” Demo leaned against the wall. “I need a drink.”

“Well I believe the answer is obvious!” Soldier pounded his fist in his hand, sending out a cloud of dust. “That fire was RED! And you know what else is red? Commies! And you know who commies employ? Wizards!” He pointed at a random spot in the alley, but no Soviet Wizard revealed himself.

Demo looked between the spot and the finger and raised an eyebrow. Despite what a rollercoaster that had just been, and the lingering pissed-off-ness, it was…good to see Soldier back to his old self so soon. A smile tugged the corner of Demo’s mouth.

“Wizard or nah, we should get going,” Demo noted. “If those cops wanted our tail, we gave ‘em the best signal flare out there. And even if they don’t know it was us, Fire Department will probably show.”

Soldier looked out the alley exit and nodded. “Affirmative!”

“Come on,” Demo said, taking Soldier’s arm firmly but not unkindly. “Let’s get you out of here. Get you some trousers along the way.”

“That’s a negatory private! I do am not need of any pants for the trip back to base.”

“…We’re going to get you some trousers.”

“…Acknowledged.”


	5. Marriage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hover for Pyro text

Pyro cautiously pushed the door to Demo’s room open, not sure exactly what they’d find in there. The sobbing (and they’d been hearing the sobbing for at least the past two hours through the western wall of their room) hadn’t all together ceased, but lately it had been accompanied by a different series of noises, together strange enough to pique Pyro’s curiosity.

The shuffling didn’t stop as the door swung inward, revealing the disheveled Demoman as he crammed various items into a bag and intermittently wiped his nose on the back of his hand. He barely acknowledged the Pyro in his doorway; nothing more than a quick glance before he turned and took a flashlight off the end table.

"Hurda hurr?" Pyro asked, since apparently Demo’s eye was going to keep sliding off them unless they asserted themself.

“What does it look like?” Demo said, in between his mutterings and the occasional odd hiccup. “I’m going.”

"Hurma? Hudda hurra HOO-ra." Sure the music had been really boring and they got in trouble for trying to steal the big candles at the alter, but after that they got to spend the party stuffing tasty little clam-things under their mask for the rest of the night. All in all, the best (only) wedding they’d ever been too.

Demo made a _pah!_ noise in their direction. “That’s not why- I’m going because I got _things_ I got to do- should’ve been doing- should’ve gone to look a long time ago-”

The rest was lost, his monologue apparently for his own benefit. Pyro tilted their head at his frantic activity; they hadn’t paid much attention to him during the wedding, but now that they thought about it, he had seemed to get sadder and sadder as the impromptu little shindig went on. (Soldier and Zhanna didn’t believe in things like “ceremony” and “proper timing”—they’d wanted to officiate it, and it was all Heavy could to make them invite the other members of Team Fortress.) In fact, if memory served, Pyro hadn’t seen Demo at all during the reception. Maybe he’d already started on his current inebriation—a state that Pyro could smell even through their filters.

"Humma hoo?" they asked, still trying to parse the stupid situation that had kept them awake one room away.

“Nay what, _who_ ,” Demo said, barely above slurred. “Got to…got to find him…going to go find Soldier.”

"Mururda? Hurmma hudda ha." Pyro jerked a thumb over their shoulder.

“Not THAT Soldier!” The sudden bellow shook the posters on the walls. “ _MINE_.”

Well, no way was no one coming to investigate now. That shout must have woken up half the hideout. Pyro just hoped they wouldn’t get blamed for “riling Demo up” which was apparently always _their_ crime instead of the other mercenary’s tenuous sobriety.

Demo wasn’t done. “ _My_ Soldier,” he repeated. “ _Mine_. They killed other teams, dinnae you hear? What if one o’ them was BLU, wae if he’s gone an I ne’re said ‘m s…”

Whether it was the alcohol or the apparent mental breakdown, Demo’s accent coiled over his words to the point of unintelligibility, and Pyro’s English wasn’t good at the best of times. But, as they watched the Demoman give up and burry his head in his hands, they figured they could parse at lease one thing from his state.

Demo jerked at the hug, but didn’t hesitate for long, wrapping his arms around his teammate and sobbing into their shoulder. They patted the back of his head saying, “ _there there. Things will be better in the morning._ ” They didn’t know if Demo could understand them, or if he could even hear over his own sobs, but Pyro repeated the platitudes they’d heard so long ago. It didn’t mean anything, nothing substantial, but often times being what they were, this was the best they could do.


	6. Tranquility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay had to get a new power supply for my comp

There isn’t much better than the Badlands.

It’s its own sort of equanimity, this paradise of war outside of society; no sign of the dregs of normal reality, like unplanned casualties or being charged with war crimes. It’s Eden, separated from the world, where nothing matters and consequences come down how much the voice in the sky says you deserve your pain.

Eighteen people, alone with limited supervision. Where seeing a crowd is a brief vacation, rather than the norm. Where a day can be spent traipsing about the Eye Museum, or the newly relocated Alamo, but “home” is a dented couch in a drafty base.

“Comfortable?” Demo asks.

The only reply get gets is a contented, “hmmr.”

The Soldier snuggles deeper between the cushions and Demo’s arm, earning a small laugh. It’s not exactly the softest place in the world, but it’ll do.

“Yo,” Scout hisses at them as he passes by their small cuddle-pile. “Tell your boyfriend he needs to go. You two chucklenuts are going to get us all in trouble.”

From within the mass of bodies, Soldier’s muffled voice says, “tell your Scout if he keeps bothering us, I’m going to dangle him off the roof by his ankles until he wets himself.”

Scout makes a face.

“There’s no reason to start a brawl lads,” Demo mediates. Usually he’d agree about the benefits of discretion , but he’s feeling particularly nap-y after a day on the town. “Scout, ‘s fine. No one’s going to snitch.”

“And we have earned this couch!” comes the faint addendum.

Scout makes a face. “You don’t have a couch at your own base?”

“Scout,” Demo repeats, his already thin patience turning threadbare. “Do me a favor ‘n piss off, aight?”

Scout grumbles, aware that he isn’t going to get them to move by talking. He leaves, but Demo suspects that when the game is on, he’s going to on the TV whether the two are still there or not.

“Maybe he’s right,” Demo admits once Scout’s disappeared into the kitchen. “We might want to try shacking up at BLU base instead.”

“Hnn,” Soldier says. “Anywhere’s good with you.”

“Jane,” Demo says as he lets the barest hint of a smile form. “You’re a positive _sap_ when you’re sleepy.”

“Don’t get used to used to it creampuff.”

Demo just chuckles, and turns on his side. With one arm he wraps it around the dozing Soldier, and falls off into a deserved rest.


	7. Transformation

“That’s not fucking funny Tavish.”

Tavish replied in the only way appropriate to his current situation: with a soft and melancholy _awwwoooo_.

“I am serious Private, change back this instant!” The only response Jane got was the smug thump of Tavish’s tail. “I sear if you so much as-”

Tavish licked him sloppily on the side of the face. It was somehow even grosser than when he did it in human form.

“I hate you,” Jane muttered.

In that moment it was somewhat true. Tavish was being an absolute pain than for no other reason than not wanting to hike any further. Jane looked grimly at Tavish’s discarded backpack, blithely aware that there was no way Tavish could fit the straps around his arms in his current form.

“If you think _I’m_ c arrying it, you better take a leak on a fire hydrant and come back with a better idea,” Jane told the self-satisfied werewolf. “Now come on! March! We have scarce hours left!”

With that he stormed off, towards where he was (reasonably) sure was further up the mountain. He wasn’t turning back, no siree, if that little brat wanted to turn into a wolf every time he didn’t want to face his problems then so be it-

-Dammit.

Jane turned around to see that Tavish hadn’t even attempted to follow him, and grumbled back to the cliff edge, bluff called. He deposited his own pack with a huff, and sat with his arms across his chest. _Stupid mongrel mutt I should just_ -

Tavish, well pleased with himself, did that little thing dogs do where they pad around in a circle until they thing it’s all right to sit down. He grinned at his boyfriend.

“Don’t give me that look!” Jane said. He looked around at their apparent new campsite. “Don’t even know why you were so prissy about spending the night _here_ of all places. What’s so great…about…”

His sentence trailed to nothing, since just then, the sun dipped its face below the horizon spilling bright red on the pine trees below them. Light winked through the setting mist, transforming the forest below into a sea of blood. Behind them, where the sky was still holding on to its last traces of blue, the dome of the world curved until it melted into the deep purple of the sunset.

“Oh,” Jane said.

Briefly, he wondered how Tavish knew this would happen, but decided not to question it, instead gazing at the beauty that had suddenly presented itself. Maybe he just had a good eye for this sort of thing, or some sort of natural premonition that came with his weird fairytale magic, but either way, Jane was in awe. Tavish came to sit beside him, and Jane pressed a hand into his side, fingers sinking into the thick fur. He muttered a small expletive, and let the two of them bask in the fading glow.


End file.
